


to my screen a new project

by renaissance



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 04:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: It’s another hot day even as the sun’s setting, haze rising from the tarmac outside, when Chikara gets a new regular customer.





	to my screen a new project

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wafflesquire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflesquire/gifts).



> What a throwback! I'm finally going through all my old Haikyuu!! fics on dreamwidth/tumblr and archiving them here. The rest will be up shortly as chapters within one work, but this one gets a fic of its own. A birthday gift from two years ago \o/
> 
> (Title from "The Mothball" by Augie March)

The job at the convenience store had been—well, a convenience, a way to save up some money for Chikara to bolster his DVD collection and maybe a little bit left over to save up for a rainy day, or university, or something like that. It hasn’t really turned out too convenient, though. It’s a bit of a distance from his house, and on unseasonably hot spring days, after a morning of social volleyball with his friends, trekking halfway to Sendai city is just a pain.

But, it’s been worth it for the small moments of inspiration that Chikara gets from his people-watching. There’s an old man who comes in every Saturday afternoon to buy the newspaper, even though it’s almost always sold out by then. There’s a woman with three small children who is always short on food, always stocking up at the last minute, and Chikara can never quite meet her eye because he feels so bad for her. There are three university students who live together in a flat across the road coming in at ridiculous hours, who Chikara only ever sees when he’s on the late shift, to buy microwave meals and copious amounts of alcohol.

It’s another hot day even as the sun’s setting, haze rising from the tarmac outside, when Chikara gets a new regular customer.

The shop’s bell jingles as the door opens, and Chikara’s used to it well enough that he doesn’t look up from his notebook, half-formed ideas scribbled on the page in front of him. The customer’s footsteps come towards him, though, so Chikara reluctantly tilts his head up. His fringe—grown too long now that he isn’t cutting it for regular volleyball—falls in his eyes, but even through it he can see a boy about his age bending down to inspect the candy displayed at the counter.

“You haven’t got any sour gummies?” he asks.

It’s an unfortunate moment for Chikara to recognise him as the captain of Datekou’s volleyball team. His mouth drops open against his volition, and for a moment he just _stares_.

“Are you mute? I didn’t know mute people could get jobs in customer service, but I guess it’s good that this place is progressive—”

“I’m not mute,” Chikara says quickly, and it comes out a bit snappish, so he clears his throat. “Sorry. You, uh, you wouldn’t recognise me, I suppose, but—”

“Wait,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Tenzen?”

Chikara lets out a laugh. “Try again.”

“You sure it’s not Tenzen?” he says. “I recognise you from Spring High.”

“That, I doubt,” Chikara says.

The other boy screws his face up into an ugly frown. “Well just tell me,” he grumbles, putting his hands on his hips.

“Karasuno,” Chikara says. “I was on the bench, though.”

To Chikara’s surprise, Datekou’s captain begs to differ. “No, you weren’t,” he says. “I do remember you now. You played against Wakunan, right? I was watching from the next court over while we got ready to play Seijou.”

It’s a few moments and an embarrassing amount of blinking before Chikara can respond. “I was just a substitute,” he says. “I’m… kind of impressed you remember, since I wasn’t even on court for the full game.”

“Yeah, well,” Datekou’s captain says, looking away with a blush growing on his face— _it’s just the heat, it must be_ , Chikara thinks—“I’ll just take the bubblegum, then.”

Chikara hadn’t even noticed it in his hands as he slides it across the counter. He allows himself a small smile at the fact that someone like him, someone so average and unimpressive, can stay in someone else’s memory for such a long time.

As the other boy leaves, Chikara says, “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

 

* * *

 

Over the next two weeks, he comes in five times. Chikara learns that his name is Futakuchi Kenji, and he likes bubblegum an awful lot but he prefers sour gummies. He isn’t very discerning in his tastes, though, because sometimes he’ll pick something out at random.

(“Well, I’ve still got sour gummies left at home. I need to buy _something_.” Chikara doesn’t ask why.)

The seventh time Futakuchi comes into the shop, he’s carrying a volleyball.

“Let me guess,” Chikara says. “Today’s a bubblegum day.”

“Actually, I’m all out of cash,” Futakuchi says, shrugging. “Spent the last of my allowance on DVDs. I just came here to see if you were free.”

“I’m working late tonight,” Chikara says, “until eleven. Uh, sorry, did you have—”

“You know there’s a park near here, right?” Futakuchi asks.

Chikara bites his lower lip. “You know I’m not that good at volleyball.”

“Bullshit,” Futakuchi says, so swiftly as though he would never even consider the idea. “Maybe another day, though?”

“Maybe,” Chikara says vaguely. He doesn’t want Futakuchi to get his hopes up—of course, he’s only seen Chikara when he was playing against Wakunan, and although that wasn’t his best, it was certainly better than his usual performance.

“Alright,” Futakuchi says. “See you later, Ennoshita!”

Chikara doesn’t think “see you later” is any more than a formality, but at eleven, after one of the uni students has come and gone with an armful of microwave popcorn and Chikara’s locking up, he comes out to see Futakuchi waiting on the steps, bouncing the same volleyball he had earlier.

“Oh, hey,” he says, getting to his feet

“I hope you weren’t waiting here this entire time,” Chikara jokes, because he’s not sure how else to respond except with humour.

“Nah,” Futakuchi says, “I went home, watched a movie, stared into space a bit and contemplated just how boring it is to be on holiday for so long, and then I realised it was getting close to eleven so I came out for a bit of company.”

Chikara swallows. “And volleyball.”

“If you want,” Futakuchi says.

In theory, Chikara ought to hesitate, ought to say he should probably go home and get an early night, but he doesn’t, he says, “Alright, just for a bit,” and just for a bit turns into just for a bit longer, and then it’s one in the morning and he’s sweating all over, lying on the grass and letting the light breeze cool him down.

“Sorry,” he says. He hates that his first instinct is to apologise, but it’s exhausting feeling so inadequate all the time without trying to do something about it. “I haven’t done any practice in a while.”

“Neither,” Futakuchi says, ignoring the apology entirely.

“I suppose I should go home soon,” Chikara mumbles.

There’s a gust of wind across the park, shaking the blossom tree they’re lying beneath, and a stray petal falls onto Chikara’s forehead as he feels a hand close around his. “Stay,” Futakuchi says.

Chikara’s vision blurs as Futakuchi sits up, leaning over him and brushing the petal off his forehead. The way his fingers part Chikara’s hair feels so gentle that Chikara lets out a shaky breath, his lips parting just a bit. Futakuchi bends down and presses his mouth to Chikara’s, just for a moment. Chikara’s face is on fire all over again, the cool wind forgotten, and it’s all he can do to let out a gasp.

Futakuchi cringes—was it that bad?—but his words say the opposite. “Was that too soon? I always rush these things, I know, I don’t know when to stop—”

“I should go home,” Chikara says.

He gets up, and he doesn’t look back. His heart is beating double-time, and breathing isn’t coming easy. It’s almost a half-hour walk, but he runs most of it and is home in fifteen minutes. His parents are asleep, so it’s easy to slip into his bedroom, lie on his bed panting, and bury his head in his pillow—not to cry, just to shut everything out for as long as it’ll take.

 

* * *

 

It’s six days after that before Futakuchi comes back to the convenience store. Chikara almost wasn’t expecting to see him, after what happened, but there he is, hands in the pockets of his shorts and looking at the ground. It’s getting close to summer, and he’s just wearing shorts, a singlet, flip-flops, and a snapback, and Chikara thinks it’s the sort of casual elegance that can only be achieved by an incredible amount of care—the artful angle of his cap, the corner of his shirt tucked into his waistband. Chikara berates himself for letting his own insecurity eclipse Futakuchi’s natural beauty, for wasting so much time thinking of his _own_ feelings.

Futakuchi doesn’t speak, barely meets Chikara’s eyes as he piles up five packets of sour gummies—that’s everything they have in stock—and ten sticks of bubblegum onto the counter.

“If you want to go somewhere else,” Chikara says, breaking the silence, “I’m sure other convenience stores stock sour gummies.”

“The one near my house stopped getting this kind,” Futakuchi says. “That’s why I started coming here.”

“The first time you came, we didn’t have any,” Chikara points out.

For the first time, Futakuchi looks him in the eye, properly. “Why do you think I came back?”

Chikara flinches back a little. Selfish, _so_ selfish. “I know why,” he says, “I just never understood.”

“You know, when I saw you playing at Spring High, I thought, how can one person be so beautiful?” Futakuchi says. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. Maybe Inter High this year, I’d’ve had my fingers crossed, but… I was surprised. I tried to pretend like I had no idea who you were.”

“You’re a good actor, then,” Chikara says. His gaze flickers to his notebook, sitting beside the till, and his head is filled with all sorts of ideas.

Futakuchi cracks a smile. “I’m glad I got to meet you, even if it didn’t work out.”

 _Now or never_ , Chikara thinks. He takes a deep breath in. “I don’t hate you,” he says. “Sort of the opposite. I just never imagined that anyone might… feel like you do.”

“You really think that little of yourself?” Futakuchi asks.

“Yeah,” Chikara says. He feel stupid admitting it. “I’m pretty average.”

“Me too,” Futakuchi says, right off the bat. “I think everyone is. It’s—ah, this is stupid, but it’s small things that make people interesting. Even if it all adds together to make something that seems _average_ , there’s detail that you only find if you look close enough.”

Just listening to him, Chikara feels breathless. “I think you’re spectacular,” he says.

“I could say the same to you,” Futakuchi says, amused. “But, uh, maybe I’ll need to look a little closer first, just to make sure.”

This time, Chikara doesn’t hesitate before standing on his toes to lean over the counter, placing his palms flat, bubblegum sticks spilling over his fingers as his hands slide forward. Futakuchi’s hands cover his in seconds, and they stand with their faces millimetres apart for a few moment, almost daring each other to move first.

In the end, though, Ennoshita knows it has to be him. He tilts his head a little bit, half-closes his eyes like he’s seen in movies, aims for Futakuchi’s mouth and misses completely. Their noses bump and, letting out a frustrated laugh, Chikara opens his eyes properly and tries again. This time, it works perfectly.

He’s so engrossed in the moment that he doesn’t hear the bell ringing as the door opens, and he can barely focus as the old man looking for his Saturday newspaper berates him for slacking off on the job.

It’s alright, though—he finishes at six on Saturdays, and Futakuchi’s waiting outside.

“I went home and got my volleyball just in case,” he says, “but I thought you might want to do something different. Like go on a date… ?”

 _This is happening_ , Chikara reminds himself. “Alright,” he says. “We could see a movie, if you’ve got time.”

“For you?” Futakuchi says. “Even if I didn’t, I’d make time.”

The heat of the day is still hanging in the air, but Futakuchi puts his arm around Chikara’s waist anyway, and Chikara leans into the touch like it’s magnetic. When he puts a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, not low enough yet that it could be called setting but nonetheless painting the sky in oranges and pinks, Futakuchi takes his cap off and fixes it on Chikara’s head.

“Hey,” Futakuchi says, “do you reckon they let you bring volleyballs into cinemas?”

“I don’t know,” Chikara says, feeling bold, “I’ve never tried. Do you know anything about their general policies on sitting up the back and making out?”

From under the brim of his cap, Chikara can just see Futakuchi blushing. “I’ve never tried that either,” he says. “Maybe we should find out.”


End file.
